Canary Song (Working Title)

Chapter 1

 The city is immersed in color, dip-dyed in a swath of mist that taints everything pastel. Above, the Sun sinks its light into the teeth of the skyline and sends long shadows over the city. I watch as lights flicker on and off in the building across from my apartment, shivering from the brutal winds that descend on this rooftop around five pm. Soon, the Sun will slip below the horizon and the colors I see darting through the streets will become a monochrome haze of smog. Anbar will find me then.

As I wait, the wind whips through the layers I'm wearing. Ritchy's sweater hangs heavy from my shoulders, his scent thick in my nose. I almost regret wearing it out today. With nothing better to do, I water Anbar's plants. They grow in droves, reaching upwards as if to pull me into the soil I've rooted the m in. Lights lift off of their leaves and surround me, blinking like fireflies for a few minutes before winking out of existence. I'll have to pull out the glowing mushrooms threading their way through Anbar's herbs and flowers later.

I'd always planned on bringing Ritchy up here someday. I'd imagined him seated on the edge of the roof with me, legs swinging beneath us. I think he could've brought his guitar or his ukulele or his flute, any one of the many instruments he loved so dearly. I think we could've had a fairly good evening and maybe he'd have believed me when I told him the smog that hangs over us is cotton candy and that he's worth every penny any person's ever stumbled on. Ritchy's always been made of luck.

I guess sometime along the way, we both ran out.

The sky looks like rain so I water the plants lightly before taking a seat on the edge of the roof. The cold of the stone sinks into my skin but I don't mind it because Anbar should be here soon. I check my watch. 5:30.

A ruffle of feathers and the sound of Anbar cutting through the wind currents reaches my ears. He descends slowly, cautiously, before settling beside me. It's good to not be alone. I lean against him, letting him shuffle closer and cover me in one enormous inky black wing. With Anbar's feathers sheltering me, the wind is tolerable and the light of the Sun is concealed.

"Ritchy is leaving," I say. Distant. Distance. It stretches out and out. A single silver thread pulls at me and I know where it leads. I close my eyes and bury my face into Anbar's side, imagining I can distinguish between every soft downy feather pressed into my cheek. In my mind's eye, I can map the path the silver thread is travelling. It twists around alleys and corners, reaches through doors, and travels up stairs to reach Ritchy, packing up to leave forever. I worry that he'll go so far, the silver thread will break.

"Leaving to where?"

I open my eyes. Anbar and I have talked about this before but I guess a bird doesn't have much room in his head for politics and international affairs.

"He's been conscripted," I breathe. The Sun has fled, taking with it all color and light. "He leaves tomorrow morning."

Anbar's chirps are a rumble in his chest. "Will you see him off at the train tomorrow?"

Beneath us, the smog rises, choking out all the colors I'd seen in the air before. The lights of a city I can only imagine is made of ash and dust are obscured by the darkness creeping upwards. I feel small. Alone. For the thousandth time, I wonder, only for a passing moment, if anything I see is real. If Anbar is even here.

Who will I have left when Ritchy is gone?

My heart squeezes painfully to think about it. The wind licks at my cheeks through Anbar's feathers. Belatedly, I raise my fingers to my cheeks and taste salt where there was none before.

"Well?" Anbar prompts, lifting his wing slightly before settling it back down over me as if to prod me for an answer.

My voice is hoarse.